


The Heart Must Pause to Breathe

by Elynittria



Category: House
Genre: Angst, Episode Tag, Ficlet, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-11-03
Updated: 2006-11-03
Packaged: 2017-10-05 05:15:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 526
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/38180
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Elynittria/pseuds/Elynittria
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Wilson's thoughts at the end of Season 3's "Fools for Love."</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Heart Must Pause to Breathe

_For the sword outwears its sheath,  
     And the soul wears out the breast,  
And the heart must pause to breathe,  
     And love itself have rest._  
              —George Gordon, Lord Byron

 

Wilson automatically moved the Do Not Disturb sign to the outer doorknob and closed the door behind him, the action by now a mindless routine. He threw his satchel onto the perfectly made bed and sat down with a heavy sigh. Friday night. Another lonely weekend stretched ahead of him, its empty hours and minutes seeming somehow more burdensome than usual.

_A big romantic weekend could change everything..._ He snorted as House's words echoed in his mind. He couldn't remember the last time he had had a romantic weekend. Probably during his previous marriage—and not with his wife. House was right: he had ruined his marriages all by himself.

Wilson flopped back onto the bed and stared at the ceiling. What the hell was he doing here? How had he ended up living in a sterile hotel room, his belongings neatly stowed in a self-storage facility? He had honestly tried to make things work with his wives; or at least, he had thought he had. Yet somehow his efforts had never been enough to make the relationships last. Inevitably, his marriages had deteriorated into rote scenes played out on autopilot by both parties, the genuine emotions leached away and replaced by simulacra. The only times he had felt truly alive were when he had escaped to be with House.

His mind skittered away from the thought of House. It was useless to dwell on might-have-beens like House's invitation to move back in with him after the Grace fiasco. Or to analyze why his heart had jumped when he momentarily thought House was inviting him to the Poconos. No, he was better off living alone. He needed to give himself a break from relationships, needed to mentally regroup and regain his equilibrium. He could do it; he always had before. The trick was to concentrate on real things like his patients and board meetings and the latest cancer research—not on dreams and memories.

He had moved to the hotel as a temporary measure, as a way to avoid making any permanent decisions that might turn out to be terrible mistakes. He had thought he could always move out when he met the right woman or finally figured out what he was supposed to do next. But time had passed and somehow the neutral space of the hotel was beginning to feel more like a dead end than a way station. Maybe he was waiting for Godot. Wilson sighed. Maybe House had been right about that, too—perhaps the concept of his ever being in a _good_ relationship was laughable. Yet somehow, knowing that he was toxic to those he loved didn't strike him as funny at the moment.

Wilson sat up and opened his satchel resolutely. He didn't have time for self-pity. There were charts needing to be updated, and journal articles needing to be read. There were bigger things to think about than his own woes, and it was time to get back to work.


End file.
